One Rainy Night and a Cup of Tea
by FullMetalLover13
Summary: John must help Sherlock after a case at a crime scene goes horribly wrong.


John could hear the thunder that shook the flat and immediately started worrying for the man still caught in the storm outside. Sherlock was on the case and heavens knew how long it would take him to get home. So, John put his coat on in a rush and flew out the door to look for his flat mate at the crime scene that the detective had only vaguely mentioned before heading off on his own. Since John didn't want to wait around for a cabbie in this kind of weather, he set off on a jog down Baker Street and continued through the roads that he knew all too well.

Turning his collar up against the wind, he remembered his first case with Sherlock and his blog post appropriately titled "A Study in Pink". It was then that he wondered if the rain that woman was hustling though had been this dreadful.

After a few more streets, the blogger could see the building that Sherlock was sure to be in and started running towards the lit up windows that he could make up through the sheets of ice-water that blurred his vision. As he approached the beacon of a dry place, he suddenly heard a gunshot sounding from a tucked away alley that lied between the structure he was headed to and a café just to the right of it. This made John's legs run at full pace and in a matter of seconds he reached the alley. Standing, unafraid, in the entrance, he could now barely see what had caused the sound. In front of the doctor a bloody Sherlock was laying motionless in the puddles that had started to encase the streets.

John fell to his knees and looked over the man that meant so much to him. Quickly, he checked for a pulse in his friend's wrist. As soon as he felt the reassuring beating of blood through the man's veins he knew that there was hope.

"Sherlock? Listen to me. Can you hear my voice?" John asked in a desperate voice as he shook the man's shoulders.

Sherlock replied with a groan and rubbed his head, sitting up and propping himself up on his other hand.

"Yes, John. I'm fine. The gunshot wasn't aimed at me; I just got beat up and tried to shoot the serial killer but missed. As soon as I shot, another man ran up from behind me and knocked me unconscious for a moment…. Damn it, now they've both gotten away. Luckily I was able to get both of their measurements and a vague description of the man I was shooting at. I also know their country of origin, business here, and who they will be targeting next," he stated casually as he continued to hold his head in his palm.

"Don't worry about that right now, okay? The only thing that has to happen this moment is getting you home, patched up, and most importantly out of this rain," he replied in a level headed tone as he helped then other man up and walked him home.

The walk back was even more miserable that the walk there since Sherlock was injured and their pace was much slower. But they were able to pull it together and after about ten minutes of trudging through the downpour they made it back to the safety and warmth of 221B. Bursting through the door they felt better in an instant. Walking up the steps was a bit of trouble, but Sherlock had mostly come back to his senses. Even so, John commenced doctoring him the second they were up in the sitting room.

"First things first, we need to get you out of those wet clothes," John said in a practical voice with only the slightest bit of a blush tainting his cheeks, "Here, let me help you with that," he added, helping Sherlock slide out of his drenched clothing.

Usually, Sherlock might have added some snarky comment or snapped that he could manage on his own, but this time he decided to let himself be aided. The only words that escaped his nearly blue lips were, "Thank you, John."

"Don't mention it," John said as he turned around to find some new clothes for the man while he started taking off the last layer on his body. Little did John know that this was happening behind him so the shock that stuck him upon turning back to face his now naked flat mate was quite apparent on his face.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was completely un-phased by the matter. He simply reached out, grabbed the boxers that were in the pile of clothes in John's arms, slid them on, and crawled into his bed as if nothing happened. John blinked a few times, cleared his throat, and left the room speechless and trying to tame his now wandering mind.

The doctor returned a few minutes later in a dry outfit of boxers and a jumper, tea in one hand, and a first aid kit in the other. Sitting next to Sherlock on his bed, he handed the detective the tea and began to very carefully wipe the bloody bruises and scrapes on his face with a damp cloth. His face was clearing up and soon only looked a bit messed up. John was sure not to hurt his close friend as he washed up the final scrapes. At this point, Sherlock had finished his tea and set the mug aside.

"That should do the trick. So, are you feeling any better?" John said in a light, caring voice.

"Much. Thank you for doing all of that, it really wasn't necessary."

"Of course it was. You would have gone to sleep a frozen mess," John replied with surety in his words.

"The only problem now is," he started but was interrupted by a shiver that swept through his whole body, "well, that…."

"Oh, well….I can help with that too if you'd like. Here," the blogger slid his shirt off in a single movement and slipped under the covers next to Sherlock. He then proceeded to quickly wrap his arms around the man before he could protest.

"What the hell are you doing?" the other blurted weakly as his body betrayed him and leaned in to further encase itself in John's warm embrace.

John cleared his throat awkwardly and continued, "Well, it's a proven fact that contact to another body will warm someone up and...uh… the more skin to skin contact, the warmer you'll be, theoretically speaking," he finished the statement with a self assuring nod.

"Nothing I didn't already know. I just wanted to see what kind of excuse you'd make," he replied with a teasing smirk on his lips.

"Excuse? You're freezing cold! It's not like I want to be in bed with a half naked man," his voice was just a bit too defensive and the strength in his tone betrayed him in the last couple of words.

"Right. You realize I don't buy that right?" With that sentence, Sherlock positioned his face so that his forehead was touching John's and their eyes were forced to meet.

"I don't know what you're on abou….," the man cut off his own sentence with a sigh as Sherlock's questioning gaze proved itself too much to bare. "Alright. Fine. You got me. I don't think you're hard to look at and probably the person I hold closest to me in my life and I think you're absolutely brilliant even if you're a bit of a twat half the time but I've gotten used to that and your friendship is more than I could have ever asked for, in all honestly, and whenever you're around me I feel a lot happier, not to mention a hell of a lot less alone and sure I have no idea what I'd do without you but that most certainly doesn't mean that I want to be in bed with you, half naked," he finished his rushed rant and made sure to put emphasis only on the last few words.

Before John could even predict what Sherlock might say next his thoughts were suddenly swept away like clutter by a broom as he felt a pair of lips caressing his own in the sweetest kiss he had ever felt. As their lips parted they just stared into each other in a perfect moment, John into Sherlock's racing mind and Sherlock into John's quickly beating heart. As the only consulting detective in the world opened his lips to speak again, five little words spilled out like a phrase out of a fairytale;

"I love you too, John."


End file.
